When Angels Fell
by SeverusHaveILoved
Summary: Harry grew up dreaming of life beneath the ocean waves, so when the Dursleys drag him out to the hut-on-a-rock it seems to be a dream come true. What no one guessed though was the lure the sea and its creatures would hold for the Boy-Who-Lived. Slash


A/N: I've been thinking about this story for some time, but Aisling-Siobhan's latest Selkie one-shot (a great read) prompted me to dig this out and give it a whirl. I haven't totally decided on the pairing yet, but I'm thinking of someone unusual. Let me know if you have any ideas.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

**Prologue**

"All my life, my heart has sought a thing I cannot name."

Hunter S. Thompson

When Harry had really thought about it, he couldn't remember when his obsession with the ocean, marine animals, and most especially seals began. He remembered as a small child dreaming about sleek, dark creatures with snub noses and whiskers that zipped through the water like underwater missiles. The walls of his cupboard were covered with childish drawings of ocean scenes, teeming full of sea life, entreating him to enter their world. He would often stare, eyes unfocused, during the long hours stuck in his room under the stairs, at the mural he had created. Sometimes, if he wished hard enough, the pictures would come to life before him, the colors transforming to the vivid blues and greens of the underwater world. He would stare transfixed at the assortment of fish, turtles, dolphins, whales and any other creature his imagination and memory had conjured up.

Most especially though, his attention was devoted to the seals swimming so effortlessly on his walls, frolicking merrily together, avoiding the larger predators and playing tricks on each other as they sped through the water. Often in his unfocused state, the green-eyed boy would imagine that the seals he loved so well would be calling to him, tittering about their adventures in their underwater home, encouraging him to draw extra tasty, little fishes or sunny rocks for them to rest upon.

It was in this way that Harry passed most of his childhood, distracted and often in a hazy, daydream-like state. His relatives thought him a simpleton and often ignored him, having long ago given up any expectation of benefit from his presence in the household. Even his cousin Dudley and his band of hoodlums lost interest in harassing him after awhile, finding that Harry wasn't as much fun to torment as the other children in the neighborhood, as the only reaction he ever gave was a glassy, distant look.

The first time his aunt noticed the drawings in Harry's cupboard was when he was five years old. With a collection of broken crayons, painstakingly collected, the little boy had transposed the images from his nightly dreams onto the walls of his little room. He had worked painstakingly on the beginnings of his underwater scene with surprising dexterity for such little fingers.

His aunt had become unreasonably hysterical. She had immediately set him to cleaning the walls with soap and water and when he had flatly refused to wash away his precious drawings, she marched out to the garage, opened a paint can and proceeded to paint over every single fish, turtle and seal.

The little boy had been inconsolable as he helplessly viewed the devastation his mother's sister had wrought upon the interpretation of his dream world. As she smugly crawled out of his living space, the offending paintbrush still in hand, a wave of red-hot fury swept through his little body that sent ripples of unease through the woman who hovered in the doorway of his cupboard. Cocking his head to the side slightly, the little boy's eyes flashed red briefly before seemingly the fresh paint on the walls and brush burst into flames. His aunt screamed as she flung the paintbrush down and rushed to escape the blazing room, inadvertently catching her own clothing on fire in her haste.

Shrieking and rolling around on the floor, the frantic woman missed the self-satisfied look that passed briefly over the normally composed boy's face. As quickly as the flames had appeared, they vanished, leaving no trace of their existence behind aside from the singed clothing, skin and hair of his terrified relative. Saying nothing, the little boy had entered his small room to once again stare at the underwater images restored to him.

His aunt never opened his cupboard door again.

So, when Harry had just turned 11 years old and his uncle dragged him out of the house toward the family's car, to escape the hoard of owls and their unwanted letters, the normally placid child openly fought for the first time in his life. The young orphan had missed much of the Dursley's current predicament regarding the mysterious mail, and so did not understand or appreciate being hauled away from the beloved friends who lived on the walls of his cupboard. Over the years, the little boy had filled up every available spare inch with his aquatic drawings and spent what time he was not forced into the banal activities required by the government, namely attending primary school, lost in his imaginary world of sea creatures.

Many of Harry's teachers had raised concerns over his inattentiveness in school. Some had suggested different interventions, but the Dursleys had listened only as long as it took to make a decent impression and then reverted back to their preferred state of apathy. Without the support from his guardians, the young boy's teachers often gave up and simply coped as best they could with his extreme disinterest in any topic not related to marine life. It was a common joke amongst the staff of the local primary school that if you wanted to teach little Harry Potter anything, you would first need to convince him that it was imperative information for a marine biologist.

So, when Vernon Dursley saw that he was not making any headway taking the freak out to the car, he said the only thing he knew to gain the boys compliance, "We're going to the seaside on holiday, you daft boy! Do you not want to see your ruddy sea creatures?" These words had an instant effect on the struggling youngster, as immediately his body went limp and he turned his striking green eyes toward his uncle with an expression of awe on his face.

Staring intensely at the corpulent man for a moment, searching perhaps for the truth of his claim, the little boy easily disengaged himself from his uncle's arms and walked calmly to the car, settling himself in the back seat. Muttering to himself about freaks and shuddering slightly, Vernon Dursley packed his wife and son in the car and fled into the night.

It was much later that evening that Harry become aware of his aunt attempting to circumvent his number one dream in life. "Vernon," he heard his aunt whisper over the snores of Dinky Duddydums, "You know we cannot take the freak near the sea. We simply cannot do it!" A shrill note of hysteria had entered Petunia's voice.

"Pet, calm down, this is all those unnatural freaks fault. I do not believe any of those wild tales your sister used to tell. We must go to a place that doesn't receive mail. Don't you see Pet, this is the only way to get away from those ruddy birds and their blasted letters," the motel bed creaked under the strain of the large man as he turned to face his wife. "There's a hut-on-a-rock that I've heard about that's another day's drive from here. It's perfect, no mail, no mail whatsoever!" Harry could hear him cackling lightly to himself. "We'll wait them out Pet, we'll wait them out and then we'll go home and that waste-of-space will be none the wiser."

Harry felt some slight curiosity at his uncle's words, but the predominating feeling currently soaring through him was satisfaction and relief. Tomorrow he would see his beloved ocean for the first time. The young boy just knew that something special would happen at that moment. He had a strong sense that this experience would change his life.

On the following day, when little Harry first caught sight of the water, with the white, foaming waves lapping against the shoreline, he was filled with more joy and delight than he had ever known. He felt keenly as if he were returning home after a long journey, which didn't really make sense, as he had never visited the seaside before that he could recall. However, the young boy didn't reflect long on this sentiment as he soon became overwhelmed with ecstasy over the prospect of catching a glimpse of his beloved seals.

Dimly, he heard his cousin complain over the long car ride and his aunt's placating statements that it wouldn't be much longer, but he cared little for the discomfort of the tedious creatures in the vehicle with him. His mind was almost entirely filled with the single purpose of figuring out a way to enter the surf as quickly as possible.

The determined boy was blocked in his attempts to get closer to the water, however. Once his uncle had stopped the car and went off to engage a vessel to transport the little family out to the hut-on-a-rock, Harry had attempted to slip away, but his aunt had immediately caught him, her sharp, bird-like eyes monitoring his movements closely. The peculiar boy remembered well the vile woman's actions in his younger years, and glanced piercingly at her, knowing her control would crumble should he choose to force the issue. He chose to bide his time, however, simply sitting back and enjoying the salty sea air and the sounds of waves crashing against the rocky coastline.

Once his uncle returned, the family was bustled into a rickety, little fishing boat and began the sea-faring portion of their journey. Harry had purposely positioned himself on a bench built into the starboard side of the boat, ignoring the protests of his aunt to sit on the floor of the boat that held bits of old tackle, fish parts and now the Dursley's luggage.

The curious boy desperately wanted to run his hands through the water, but the sides of the boat came up too high above the water for easy reach, so Harry contented himself with avidly watching the swell of the ocean as the craft cut through the water. After some time, he even began to catch glimpses of slick, black bodies slipping through the water. Excited beyond reason, the boy leaned over the boat side, reaching his slender fingers towards the shadows just under the surface of the water.

Harry was forced out of his abstraction when a massive, fleshy arm encircled his waist, pulling him harshly back into the interior of the vessel. He was then unceremoniously dumped onto the floor with a mumbled, "Are you daft boy, going to fall into the sea like your whoring mother before you."

The eleven-year-old boy scrambled off the floor and turned his abnormally bright eyes towards his hulking relative. Vernon Dursley, in an unusual moment of clarity, suddenly realized something vital, his nephew whom he considered a dimwit and an unusually weak and useless human being, was in fact a dangerous individual. To look at the scrawny boy, very few would ever come to that conclusion, but as he faced off with the little freak now, Vernon felt a trace of apprehension seep across his mind. The boy's hair was ruffled by an unnatural wind swirling around him, his cheeks flushed, and a crackling sound seemed to filter through the air, even over the droning roar of the engine of the fishing boat.

"That is twice in two days, do not ever touch me again Vernon Dursley," the furious boy finally responded, "You will not like what happens." The eleven-year-old then gave a pointed look at his aunt's neck that still retained visible burn marks even with the copious amounts of makeup she used to cover it.

Said aunt shrieked in indignation and remembered fear, immediately moving to protect her beloved son from her sister's abomination. The picture of the bony woman attempting to act as a barrier between the slender boy and his disgustingly overweight cousin amused Harry to no end. Turning his focus back on the blob's father, the young lad noticed the alteration of color that transformed the man's visage to that of a deep puce that was rather unattractive now that Harry took notice. Letting his reckless fury override his customary preservation instincts, Vernon made to raise his hand to strike the unruly boy down.

"Vernon," the anxious mother hissed, "That filthy man is coming," she finished looking worriedly between the sailor making his way toward them and her infuriated husband.

"Island comin' up the lee side," the skipper called out to the tense group, shrugging slightly when he took in their arrangement, with Vernon's hand still slightly raised. It was none of his concern how the fat man disciplined his children.

Turning away, the sailor docked the small boat along the old, rickety pier that jutted out from a rocky outcropping and began unloading the Dursley's luggage. Vernon helped his wife and son out of the fishing vessel carefully while throwing poisonous looks toward his nephew.

Once his relatives had moved up the hill towards the hut that was situated at the summit of the rocky terrain, Harry hopped off the boat and dashed down the dock toward a small section of coastline that hosted the gently rolling waves that lapped against a sandy beach. He immediately began stripping off his shoes and socks, rolling up his hand-me-down jeans, to wade into the water.

The aquatic enthusiast could barely contain his joy at finally connecting in such a tangible way to the object of his obsession. He stood there; letting the ebb and surge of the water draw him into the relaxed state he could only achieve when sitting in his cupboard, gazing fixatedly at the drawings on his walls.

That was how his cousin found him hours later, standing in the cold water, eyes glassy and mind far away. "Hey, numbnut, you're supposed to know about sea animals, what are those things?" Dudley pointed out another outcropping of rocky beach down the coastline that appeared to have dark-skinned creatures that were lounging around enjoying the last rays of the setting sun.

Without responding to the obese boy, Harry looked toward the area that his cousin was pointing at and drew in a strangled, gasping breath. It couldn't be! With his heart nearly pounding out of his chest, the boy took off running down the beach, ignoring the affronted exclamations of his erstwhile tormentor.

Drawing near, Harry slowed to a jog and then a walk as he confirmed that indeed all of his dreams had come true for there: fighting, playing, and barking at each other were a group of sleek, black seals.

At that moment, a feeling that had been undefined his whole life suddenly snapped into place in the secret recesses of his heart and soul. He finally came to a realization that had been lingering behind his eyes whenever he closed them, under his fingers whenever he read the books on marine life, in his nose whenever he though he caught the faint aroma of the salty sea air, and in his ears whenever he dreamed of the whistling wind over the vast expanse of water. This was where he belonged, here in the ocean with his brothers and sisters. Not as a boy on two legs though, but as a creature with a fin and glossy, black skin that glinted in the sunlight.

With this epiphany came a longing so profound that it overshadowed all other needs he had ever had in his short life, and suddenly he knew what he must do. The slim boy walked straight through the strangely attentive seals with their human-like eyes, stripping off his remaining clothes as he went, until he reached the edge of the rocking outcropping where water met land. Hesitating only for a moment, he fell into the water and sank into the murky waves, never looking back toward his frantically screaming relatives that had finally caught up to him.

Later that evening, when a giant-like man burst into the hut-on-the-rock he found not the savior of the wizarding world and his fugitive family as expected, but a note posted to the wall that stated in large, block letters, "You abominable freaks, the spawn of my vile sister and her criminal husband has thrown himself into the sea. Good luck finding his filthy body. Don't ever bother us again!"

Thus, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the hope of wizards all over Britain, was lost to the sea.


End file.
